


Lust - Blue Room

by Kikimay



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Depression, F/M, Mental Health Issues, S6 Buffy through Spike's eyes, Suicide, destructive sexual relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kikimay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two strangers meet in a room every Tuesday at the same time. They don't know their identities or their real names. They respect a mutual agreement, until something change forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my love gift for Spike, Buffy and Spuffy. When I started shipping this pairing I read some anti-Spuffy opinions: basically some fans think that Spike and Buffy shared a relationship based only on sex, on lust, and they had nothing more. I don't think so. 
> 
> In fact, when I think or write about Spuffy, I hardly imagine kinky sexy scenarios, while I'm mostly interested in their relationship, in that particular way to comunicate to each other that make them so complex and fascinating to me. Isn't all about sex and isn't generally about "romance" either. 
> 
> Even in this fic the characters already have a sexual relationship and they deal with some pretty un-romantic stuff. So, not pwp or romance in traditional terms. My goal is to portray their relationship in Season Six and see how it goes in the "real world."

 

 

 

  
_Tuesday,_   
_2:30 pm._

 

He woke up startled by the vibration of the phone. He was dreaming. Cursing softly, he rubbed his temples and slowly opened his eyes in a vain attempt to get used to the harsh light of the day. His lips were dry and he grimaced in disgust.

With an imperious gesture, he shut the phone  and stood up slowly, feeling incredibly cold. He was wearing just a shirt and old jeans Xander’s blanket was on the floor.

He ran a hand through his hair, cursing again.

The room’s walls were covered in ivory wallpaper, while the furniture was antique and almost black. He remembered the day she chose those colors, he remembered how she loved the contrast between light and darkness. He also remembered the need to clean his house more often; his bed seemed covered in dust.

 

 

_2: 35 pm._

 

 

Rubbing his frozen arms, he went to the bathroom and opened the shower jet. As soon as the steam in the room was dense, he entered the box and began to wash himself conscientiously. His hair, freshly cut and dyed, didn’t require shampoo.

He turned off the shower, wrapped himself in a towel and took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. His face was very pale. He shook his head and went into the kitchen, suddenly thirsty. The clock was ticking.

 

 

_3: 00 pm._

 

 

He rushed into the bedroom to get dressed, perfecting his look. He would never miss an appointment.  
An icy northern wind was announcing the arrival of snow. He muttered a curse and squeezed his body into the black coat. The languid afternoon sunlight was shining on the streets, on buildings’ windows. Beside him, clumsy businessmen were running, terrified of losing some useless second, and beautiful women on heels were ready to pick up kids from the schools.

He smiled at himself secretly. Sadly.

Street musicians began to tune their instruments; a feminine, warm voice sang the first word of a famous French song.

He walked along the main road, turning at the first crossroad. Then he looked at the impressive ancient building in front of him.

 

 

_Blue Room, only for special guests._

He opened the door, and the smell of violets, dust and mildew hit his nose. The walls all around him were covered in old dirty wallpaper, cut off in the corners, turquoise and blue. The room was divided in two parts: the small entrance, completely empty except for a table and a wooden chair, and the part with the bed and a large window. He never looked outside, not even once.

He closed the door and laid the coat on the chair. For once, he arrived first. Playing with the keys, he fought the urge to light a cigarette. 

She was the one usually waiting for him. She wouldn’t like the smell of tobacco.

Rubbing his temple, he sat on the bed, closing his eyes. Outside people were running, inside everything was peaceful and still. Silent.

He bit his lips, suppressing the desire to rummage his pockets. The he heard. The slow ticking of high heels, the shrill cry of the key in the lock. A scent of vanilla.

The front door slammed once. He smiled.

She was near the wooden chair. Mute, busy struggling with the buttons of her silky shirt. He had to bite his lip, hearing her skirt’s zipper, her little feet naked on the floor. Her panties and bra came off.

Desire was growing strong in his veins. He had to close his fists and ignore his arousal until something hard sank into the pile of soft clothes: her watch.

He smiled seductively and opened his dark blue eyes.

She was there, next to him. Beautiful and harsh as always. Nude, as always. Staring at him with impenetrable green eyes, waiting for a movement.

He grinned and walked towards her.

His most important appointment of the week. His beautiful stranger.

 

 

 


	2. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. I hope I didn't make mistakes. Since this is a translation from the Italian original version suggestions to improve the English are welcome. 
> 
> The quote at the beginning comes from the movie "I'm not There" by Todd Haynes.

  
1.

 

  
_Because relations are always ambiguous and I continually fail to communicate;_   
_Because I continue to blame myself even when I'm not to blame;_   
_Because each failing has made me more remote from myself_   
_For all these reasons and many more still unknown,_   
_I must listen, I must look around more than ever, I must leave._

I'm Not There. Todd Haynes

 

 

 

 

 

Blue Room was shining in the decadent light of the sunset. Flashes of gold dazzled between old surfaces of poor wooden furniture, inside the dirty corners of wallpaper, deep blue and almost green. From the window beside the bed images of a distant civilization were filtering into the room – people shouting, running in the streets.

Everything was far away. Every voice and tear and laugh was muffled in a plastic peace smelling of mold and squalor.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the smoke from the cigarette between his fingers. His unknown lover said something. “One day you’ll tell me what’s the great pleasure of smoking after sex …” she indirectly asked, standing up.

He clenched his lips and gave her his best skeptic glare.

“It’s just curiosity,” she said. “I don’t smoke.”

“It’s the best time, sweetheart,” he whispered stretching between the sheets. His voice came out low, weakened by tiredness and pleasure. “All the tension fading …” Running his tongue into the corners of his mouth, he looked at her. She was now standing in the middle of the room wearing her bra and panties. Her hair was soft and disheveled. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, love,” he replied completely comfortable with his own nakedness.

His lover looked at him in silence then bent down to pick up all her clothes. She was lovely and tender all crumbled on herself like a small animal. In between of her movements her sharp bones were appearing under her skin.

Standing up she slid her legs into her precious silky skirt. She pulled back her hair and wore the shirt. Then she put on her high and painful shoes. She tied the shoelaces with feminine grace.

“Next time I’ll be fifteen-twenty minutes late,” she said.

“What?”

“Next time,” she flatly repeated. “I’ll be twenty minutes late. Don’t start to count.”

“I wouldn’t have done it anyway,” he replied with his trademark seductive voice. “Twenty minutes late, huh? Do you need to bake a cake for your boyfriend?”

She didn’t reply. Adamantly she stared at him, reminding him of the rule without words.

With a tired sigh he got up and began to pick up his clothes. “There will be ever a day when I’ll start counting?” he asked frowning.

“Who knows …” she said taking her coat and keys. Heading to the exit.

 


	3. 2

 

2.

 

 

 

  
_Et dès que je l' Apercois_   
_Alors je Sens en Moi, Mon Coeur qui Bat_

 

 

 

She stopped before the door. It was dark and imposing and reminded her of the doors in old European churches.

She entered.

The reception was desolate. She pouted and took the first steps towards the stairs. In the darkness she was able to see a huge amount of dust floating into the air. That particular would have made her disgusted in other circumstances.

At the end of the ramp she took the first corridor, covered in purple carpets that muffled the sounds of her heels. She passed the green door, the one without the number, the red one and the one with a silver handle.

She paused, letting the silence swoop down the hallway.  
In front of her a turquoise door with a number she kept reminding without knowing why.

The keys and then the blue into her eyes.

She lost herself, feeling warm hands rummaging between her breasts and in every part of her body. She groaned feeling a wet mouth pressed on the crook of her neck. Red stars filled her vision. An excited voice invaded her ear while her lover’s body clung against her own asking for more contact.

_“Fifteen, twenty minutes_ … you’re on time.”

“I’m always on time,” she replied, moving away quickly to regain the necessary self-control. She took a few steps back and combed her hair that escaped the bun.

“I was afraid to wait more for you,” he unnecessarily added, voice still hoarse from arousal.

“I wouldn't, you know that. On the other hand, why all this heat?”

“I couldn’t help myself …” he admitted approaching her like a predator. “I needed …” Slowly he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

  
She had to give up control and lose herself into his mouth. She traced his back with hasty fingers and brought him closer. “You should learn the art of waiting …” she murmured with eyes closed.

“You should undress and come to bed.”

 

 

 

 

They lay together naked and warm.

He had wrapped an arm around his lover’s body, pulling her to his chest. Every now and then he let his fingers brush against her skin, caressing her soft hair.

She was standing still. Mute.

Suddenly some rhythmic thuds shook the surface of the wall making it almost tremble. Moans and screams, curses mixed with prayers filled the air.

His lips curved into an amused smile. “I wonder if we ever do all this mess,” he said jokingly.

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh really?” he replied trying to seem offended in his masculine pride.

She didn’t care about his humor.

“Do you ever …” he paused uncertainly staring at the ceiling. “Do you ever think about the others?”

“What others?” she asked.

“People like us,” he replied. “Those who come here to … Don’t you ever wonder about them? Their stories, their pasts … do you ever think about our neighbors?”

“We don’t have neighbors,” she just said broking their embrace. “And anyway I don’t. I don’t think about other people.”

He was silent for a moment. “Never?” he insistently asked.

The noises from the other side of the wall faded. She was already dressing up, the floor was returning to creak under her high heels.

 “Fifty, fifty, twenty …” she counted out loud showing the money to him and putting them on the table.

“I didn’t thought about …”

“Today is the twenty-seventh. It’s up to me this month,” he clarified turning from him.

Without saying goodbye she walked the door and slammed it. The money slightly moved to the blast.


	4. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from the Italian. Unbetaed.

 

3.

 

 

The icy cold was tickling the windows glass in an almost musical way. Outside the house the howling wind seemed to carry echoes of distant, forgotten voices.

He punched the alarm, preventing its annoying morning sound, then buried his head inside the pillow. The darkness around him was pleasant. His body was warm, wrapped in heavy blankets.

He sighed.

The day was already begun and he had to move. He gladly would have spent a few more minutes in a state of numbness with his mind gloriously empty.  He couldn’t.

He closed his eyes and savored one last moment lulled by the songs of the morning wind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The cold hit him on his face. He buried his nose inside the coat quickening his pace, shivering. The car was near. He took a bunch of keys from his pockets and finally sat down into the driving seat, breathing hard from the cold. He removed a pair of unnecessary sunglasses. The daylight seemed a livid wound in the sky.

Cold desert all around.

He stopped the car and looked at miles of wilderness in front of him. A huge pile of wet sand looked like a part of moon in between the woods. Far away in the horizon the crystalline surface of a lake.

He clutched his coat and stepped outside the car. At the center of the building site a gray camper. He coughed and ran in its direction. He went inside.

 

 

 

 

 

Almost an hour of hearing the unbearable acute voice of the man in front of him. Small eyes, crooked teeth.

“What I’m trying to say here, it’s that …”

“Oh bien alors!”

The voices were creating distorted echoes inside the camper. He endured the whole business meeting and finally sighed when the clients left.

“Finally!” Xander snapped. “Another fucking word in that fucking French and I swear! This place is literally fucking with my brain!”

The beginning of an headache.

“Xan, just tell me if …”

“I’ll take care of everything,” he promised with his strongest American accent.

“How can we do it?”

“We are careful. We took the necessary precautions and it won’t be that difficult. It’s our …”

Spike bit his lips in silence then walked in front of the window. The headache was getting worse. “We’ll need more money and political support …”

“I get it. It’s just … what choice do we have?”

“Okay. Enough for now, Xander.”

“See you tomorrow, at the reopening.”

“See you tomorrow, buddy.”

 


	5. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed. Once again, please tell me if there's something wrong with the English grammar. 
> 
> Enjoy!

4.  
  
  
  
  
  
One shot. One shot. One shot.  
Blood flowing through his veins and deep enveloping darkness.  
Light blue, unmade beds, loud noises and desperate cries.  
Then silence. Darkness again.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He jumped on the empty bed. Eyes widened in fear, panting. Small drops of salty sweat ran through his hair and down his face. His hands were shaking.   
  
“Bloody hell …” he cursed, trying to regain self-control.  
  
The air he was slowly inhaling flowed into his lungs as an hot drink. He felt the tension gradually fading.   
  
Breathing more evenly, he directed his gaze to the alarm clock in the night table beside the bed. Five a.m.: fucking perfect. Running a hand through his hair he decided to move quickly. He sat on the bed and kicked the covers: the chill hit him immediately. He repressed a curse.  
  
He walked to the bathroom barefoot because his slippers were under the bed. He shut the door behind and yawning he turned on the tap and the light. His face appeared to him like a shadowy ghost feature from an horror movie. He kicked the stupid thought and opened the medicine cabinet. He took some pills and headed into the shower.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He stopped the car. A chaos of voices and shouting to bear. Jackhammers and drills in progression. He started to search for Xander. He felt the cold piercing into his bones. The dust into his eyes bringing him to tears.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He shut the door. Some paper flew away and Xander was already in the center of the room. Panicking.  
  
“I could break everything right now!”  
  
“Calm down, Xan. Tell me what happened,” he muttered wearily, hoping his tone was somehow soothing. He was too tired to really handle Xander’s stress.  
  
“What happened?” Xander asked rhetorically. “Don’t you know? We were rejected for the funds searching in May. After all we’ve done to get the French!”  
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
“Very. How can we complete the project without the money?”  
  
Spike closed his eyes and tilted the bones of his neck until they cracked. “We’ll find a way,” he simply stated.  
  
“A way? Maybe you don’t understand, but …”  
  
“Of course I understand,” Spike firmly interrupted. “I’ll make a few phone calls and see what happens. You’ll talk to Duchamp and …”  
  
“Fuck him.”  
  
“If you want to talk to him. Anyway we’ll find the money.”  
  
“We’re not talking to the fucking French!”  
  
“Xander … those guys didn’t saw France through a telescope. Besides we must do something. We can’t just wait for the money. Don’t you agree?”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
They stayed silent for a moment. Xander heavily sighing.   
  
“Then I’ll go,” he said. “Listen …” he started then bit his lips.  
  
“Tell me,”  
  
“Well …” he abruptly stopped and fled his hands on his hair. “I need a small loan. One little thing, I swear. Will gave you everything back in a few months …”  
  
“How much?”  
  
“Three hundred.”  
  
“Three hundred and that’s it, right?”  
  
“No need to say it.”  
  
Spike’s face went dark with concern. He gave Xander the money and sat alone in silence.


End file.
